I wrote this last year, but in honor of Halloween and to
placate Fred, whom I have ignored all summer, I thought it was worth sharing
now.
A Ghost Gone Wild!
Some of you may have met my resident ghost and literary muse
Fred. Glenn and I were told when we
moved into our 1874 cottage on the Butternut Creek that a ghost inhabited the
old house, but we were mostly unaware of his presence until his pranks came
together one summer evening. He ran the
stove out of gas, started my husband’s truck, and, when we ran back into the
house to get a fire extinguisher (Fred didn’t know the first thing about
engines and shorted out the starter motor) to put out the engine fire, he made
the doorknob fall off in our hands so we could not get into the house. I thought Fred was quite the little
prankster.
To be honest it was easier for me to assume a good-natured
ghost than to believe the tricks he played were the outcome of an unpleasant
and perhaps malevolent personality. Did
I say that across the creek from us is the local cemetery? Live across from dead people with an
unsettled ghost as a house guest and you kind of need to lighten things up when
it comes to unexplainable happenings.
We close down the cottage for the winter, so I don’t know
what Fred does those months, but I think he goes to visit relatives in the
south because my next door neighbor, who checks on the house while we’re gone,
has seen no evidence of him. Fred is
shy, and I’ve heard ghosts could care less about temperature swings, but I
think he’d get very lonely in the house by himself all winter, and I can’t
imagine the folks planted across the stream are much company for him.
Since that summer night of Fred’s perfect storm, things have
been quiet around here. I’ve tried to include
Fred in my life by mentioning him often on my blog and when I guest on others. I also was under the impression that Fred and
I were friends, well, if not friends, then friendly or tolerant of one
another. Perhaps I’m wrong to think one
can share housing with a ghost, call him my muse, and think there’s no price to
pay for cohabitation with a disembodied entity.
I’ve assumed the ongoing battle with high water in the creek might have scared
the ectoplasm out of Fred, because he hasn’t been up to his usual tricks. Or so I thought.
Every now and then, usually on the warmest nights of this
past summer, I’d come downstairs it the morning and find the electric fireplace
on, heating the living room to near ninety degrees. I blamed the cats for stepping on the
remote. Cats are desert animals, I told
myself. They like it hot. Glenn and I laughed at how clever they
were. Looking back now, I think the
giggling and assumption the cats were to blame, made Fred mad. But we continued to think our felines were
the culprits. We found we were wrong
when Glenn was sitting next to the fireplace, and it came on!
The incidences came with greater frequency. We woke up to a hot living room often. Fred was getting annoying. And then things began to go wrong, very wrong.
At lunch last week, Glenn and I sat in our living room
having our noon tea and sandwiches. The
digital camera lay on the hand carved Chinese bar behind Glenn. The lens began to telescope in and out, over
and over again. When Glenn picked it up,
it was turned off, yet it continued the lens movement as if an unseen finger
was manipulating the lens button. There
was nothing we could do to stop it. It
was off!
The other day I flipped on the fireplace because it was cold
in the living room. I left and, when I
came back, the fire was off. No, it
wasn’t broken because I tried the remote on button, and it worked.
I’m certain I’ve somehow offended Fred, and I’m at a loss
for how to make amends. Perhaps I’ve
taken him for granted. I’ve been writing
away all summer with little thought of whether Fred was happily sitting on my
shoulder inspiring me or not. I just
forgot about him as my literary muse. Perhaps
he’s more sensitive than I realized. If
the impending flood frightened him, perhaps I was remiss in not comforting him,
but how was I to know ghosts find water as threatening as do people. Maybe they don’t.
I know I’ve avoided getting to know him. I’ve assumed his sense of humor defines him,
but I wouldn’t say that about a living person, would I? My entire relationship with Fred has been
built upon my sketchy of knowledge about his kind and, I’ll admit it, my
suspicion he really doesn’t exist. I
simply used him, then dismissed him.
Ghosts may not take well to this kind of insensitivity especially since
they are here because they probably have unresolved issues from their own past
lives.
At dinner last night while our favorite jazz album was
playing, a horrible sound emanated from the CD player. It had to be Fred. In the past I would have said he wanted to
sing along and just couldn’t carry a tune.
Now I wonder if he’s trying to scare us.
I need to find a way to cohabitate happily with my ghost. I don’t want to lose his companionship, but
his unpredictability is creeping me out.
I want Friendly Fred back in my life.
Note: As many of you
know, early last fall, we experienced two tropical storms that left over three
feet of water in our basement. Ghosts
may ignore cold weather, but I think they must hate floods because Fred has
been unexpectedly quiet this summer and fall.
Oops, I spoke too soon. Someone
has been leaving the locked front door open for the last few nights.
